


Alluring Secret, Black Vow

by Butwhymustiputaname



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Vocaloid
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), Based on a Vocaloid Song, Bittersweet Ending, Discorporation (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fallen Angels, Falling In Love, Forbidden Love, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, No Betas We Fall Like Crowley, Other, Recovered Memories, Religious Conflict, Repressed Memories, Songfic, Tragedy, Tragic Romance, character death but only kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2020-07-10 08:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19902784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butwhymustiputaname/pseuds/Butwhymustiputaname
Summary: Falling from Earth was different than falling from Heaven. It was a cosmic tension in the upper level. The soles of his feet anchored to the earth. Six thousand years of memories crashed down with him, too.A Songfic based on a Vocaloid song of the same name, because I still can't escape middle school





	1. Falling

**Author's Note:**

> The og song is [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YxzmspNVUzY), which is what I based the writing off of, but you might also enjoy [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7tpEo-jZ28w) version.

"The wingless fallen angel  
Surrendered himself to the contract of evil.  
In the past, they even loved each other.  
He ended it by his own hand."

Dusk, in London. A stray, heartbroken angel was wandering the streets.

It was raining. Lamp posts faintly illuminated the dim alleyways with soft halos of light. Aziraphale moved through space wearily. His last miracle had been a little much on him. A lot on him, actually. At last, his knees finally gave out somewhere in the dark, and he collapsed into a puddle, rather dampening his coat.

He was still trying to steady his breathing when a figure appeared out of the shadows and into the fuzzy edges of his vision, enveloped in the yellow-orange glow. A figure with… _beautiful_ eyes. Eyes like molten gold and ember, the customary sunglasses tucked in a jacket pocket. Black snake-skin shoes clapped against the pavement and just into his reach. An open hand reached down to him, and he clasped it feebly. Aziraphale looked up gently at his friend, and at the moment their eyes met, the pathetic angel fell for him. That is, if he hadn’t before.

The demon pulled him to his feet.

“Come on, Angel. My place isn’t far from here.”

He had before.

But now, he could feel the forbidden feelings growing inside of him, along with the exhaustion and the relief.

He felt it as Crowley helped him to stand, his arm over the demon’s shoulder. He felt it as Crowley helped him out of his coat and into the bed. Felt it as Crowley brought him a warm cup of cocoa in a winged mug and sat, rather alert, on the other edge of the bed. It was as if Pandora’s box had been opened.

His eyes flickered weakly to the demon. He knew there was worry lurking behind those dark glasses. Crowley’s face was uncharacteristically gentle, a soft, fond smile hiding grave concern. Aziraphale couldn’t help but stare. Those lips, they looked so ripe, polished to a shine by the nervous flicking of a forked tongue. Red as forbidden fruit.

God, how he wanted to take a bite. Wished for it. To bring that mouth to his own in sweetest sin.

But that kind of sin—that kind of love—was forbidden.

An angel couldn’t love a demon. It would be unholy in ways he couldn’t even conceive of. He wasn’t even sure if demons could love, to be perfectly honest.

Crowley gnawed on his lip with anxiety and sharp teeth. The angel remembered how he had miracled Aziraphale’s rain-soaked clothes dry and folded them, placing them gingerly onto a chair. How he had fussed about him “catching cold out there in the rain,” and “going off without telling him where or when or why, for someone’s sake.”

Yes, Aziraphale supposed they could.

His hand reached out softly for Crowley’s, stopping just short enough for their fingers to touch. After a moment, the demon clasped his hand, squeezing it gently. Aziraphale reached his other hand towards Crowley’s face. Crowley shut his eyes and took a breath as Aziraphale carefully pulled the sunglasses away. He folded them and placed them on the bedside table. Crowley’s bedside table. Next to Crowley’s bed. He should not be doing this.

Crowley’s eyes finally opened and Aziraphale’s were set on his. A silence stilled the room.

Aziraphale clutched the demon’s hand with the strength and desperation of a man drowning. Slowly, he brought it to his lips, and kissed the knuckles with a touch so feather-light, Crowley nearly thought he had imagined it. They were both surprised that they didn’t suddenly catch flame.

Crowley shivered. Then he coughed. He licked his lips and tried to look away, to anywhere other than the delicate vision of in front of him. He started to turn his head away and lowered their interlocked fingers.

“Angel, I don’t think you should—”

Aziraphale caught his cheek with his free hand and stopped the movement, gently pulling Crowley’s face back towards him. He had caught him mid-speech, and his thumb was resting on the soft cushion of Crowley’s parted lips. His breath was hot and shaky against the pad of Aziraphale’s finger.

Aziraphale alternated glances between Crowley’s eyes and his lips. They were in opposition, you see. His lips said “Do it, angel, do it now,” but his eyes warned him. “Please,” they were saying, “Please, love, think of what you’re doing.”

And so Aziraphale thought, and subsequently realized:

All he had to do was destroy everything.

And with that realization, the angel parted his lips and abandoned his pure heart, pulling the demon into a kiss that carried with it the weight of an eternity.

It was as intense and as brief as a flash of lightning, and it sent shock through Crowley’s mind as if he had been sweetly electrocuted. When Aziraphale finally opened his eyes, he saw a look on Crowley’s face that made his already frantic heart pound harder, faster than ever.

It was not a look of disgust, not of shock or horror, but of fear. A pure look of God-fearing.

Aziraphale anxiously bit at his lips, and Crowley put his hands on the angel’s shoulders to steady himself, as well as keep the two apart.

“Angel, you can’t—we, we can’t.”

“Crowley,”

He winced. There was too much tenderness in that breath. Far too much.

“Why ever not?”

“You’ll fall, Aziraphale!” He cried out, “You’ll fall, and it’ll be all my fault. I can’t do that to you, angel. You think I haven’t wanted to kiss you all these years? Haven’t wanted to hold you in my arms? But I made do. I waited. Because if I touched you, you’d burn, Aziraphale.”

A hand tipped his chin softly upwards.

“ _Crowley_ ,” said Aziraphale, “If I’m allowed to live and love you, I will cut off these wings —”

“Angel,” Crowley warned.

“—without hesitation.”

“Angel.”

“I love you.”

It was silent again.

They weren’t sure who moved first then, just that their lips were suddenly on each others, embracing for all they were worth.

They had been gentle the first time, chaste and soft. This was different. They met each other with gasps and wet lips and nails that dug into clothing and skin. They wrapped their fingers into each other's hair and held on for dear life. Somewhere in the mix, there were tears.

“I love you.” Said Crowley, his voice tinged with something nervous and timid. “I love you, Aziraphale.”

“Then let me surrender myself to the devil.”

Aziraphale’s face was too calm for Crowley’s liking, as if he had made this decision a long time ago. He seemed at peace with it, but the notion made Crowley feel as if his heart were being broken and re-forged all at once.

“You don’t have to do this, Aziraphale. I would never ask you, you don’t—” Crowley felt a hand on his cheek again.

“Shhh, love. It’s what I want.” Already, he could feel a burning heat between his shoulder blades. He didn’t have much time left. In his final divine moments, he silently thanked God for giving him the grace of a few minutes before retribution struck. “If this is what it takes...”

“Angel, _please_.” Crowley was sobbing now, dampening Aziraphale’s palm as he cradled it to his face.

“I renounce Heaven.”


	2. Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale makes his way back home.

Falling from Earth was different than falling from Heaven.

There was less momentum in it, for one thing. Aziraphale did not have the acceleration of hundreds of thousands of light years behind him. He didn’t feel the burn on his wings and his skin as he entered the atmosphere and blazed through terminal velocity. He didn’t have to suffer the impact of breaking Earth’s fresh crust.

But gravity, he felt gravity.

It was a cosmic tension in the upper level. The soles of his feet felt anchored to the earth. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley had said, “Aziraphale, Aziraphale, Azira… zira…angel.”

He was there long enough to see the bright yellow eyes dull in confusion and fog. Long enough to see Crowley forget him.

And then he was falling.

Six thousand years of memories crashed down with him, too.

He had not thought of this. It was true that the remaining angels remembered nothing of their downward counterparts, but Aziraphale had not considered that the demon would forget their centuries of companionship. “But”, he supposed, “perhaps devils remembered nothing of each other’s pasts, either. Same stock.”

So then, he had been erased from his love’s memory. Carefully extracted and blurred away, like damaged film. One wasn’t allowed to recall a fallen angel’s prior divinity.

He mused on this as he fell through the ground and into nothingness. A rabbit hole in reality. It was as if the dirt had caved away and swallowed him up. Him alone. Crowley would surely still be sitting on the edge of his bed, alone. Golden eyes rimmed with red, and cheeks still wet. On the table, next to him would be a beverage he didn't drink, left untouched for favor of something sweeter.

Crowley alone. Crowley imagining he had spent centuries—no, milennia— alone. This idea burned Aziraphale more than the boiling sulphur that soaked him. His wings were still white, but feathers had broken here and there in his landing, and they ached. His hair, though it had been ever blonde before, was now a ghostly white. 

There was little change in his figure, but his _form_ was different. It was his spirit that had darkened, intensified. There was no naivety in him, yet.

It was the first time since the war that an angel had fallen. The demons hadn’t known what punishment awaited them before. They had crashed all at once, but Aziraphale sought out Hell deliberately.

Where Crowley had sauntered, he marched with intent into flame.

Aziraphale walked past hordes of demons with the gait of an army about him. He was recognized, that was for certain, but left unbothered. Perhaps they did not even realize he had fallen. After all, they believed Crowley was impervious to Holy Water, so why would he burn in Hellfire?

Aziraphale trudged upwards. He rounded each ring of Hell with the sole thought of Crowley: through frozen Cocytus, and narrow bolge; across burning deserts and fiery rain; and through the marshy waters of the Styx, which stained his clothes until they were black as char. And with each step, the name resounded louder. “Crowley, _Crowley._ ”

At last, he reached the metal teeth of an escalator, which spat him out in London. But where to now? Would Crowley still be here without him? Waiting for him?

He scoured the city. First, the demon’s flat. Well, Crowley’s flat. He’d have to be more specific now. Aziraphale willed the door open, and it yielded to him. The plants perked up in his presence. They were looking a little worse for wear. He stalked through the rooms, looking like a man who had lost a part of himself. 

His eyes landed on a certain winged lectern. On it was an astronomy book, its pages outspread to reveal a map of stars labelled “Alpha Centauri.” 

What would have happened if they had fled? Eloped to the stars together?

Aziraphale brushed a hand against the pale, stone feathers, then yanked them back as if burned.

The church. Crowley was at the church.


	3. Familiar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale finds Crowley at the church.

Aziraphale didn’t know why Crowley would be at the church. As it turns out, neither did Crowley.

It had been rebuilt after the bombing, several years later, but it looked just the same as when Aziraphale had stepped into it in 1941. And just as before, there was Crowley.

Only, now, he would not step inside. The church doors were opened, and Crowley stood in front of them. There would be no reason for him to enter, of course. It had pained Crowley to do it the last time for his sake. Crowley had made that sacrifice for him first. He had let his feet burn to save him. Oh, he had played it for a bit of a gag, hopped around on his feet, but Aziraphale knew it had hurt. He could feel the ache coming off of him in waves, tinged with another… ache that he hadn’t been able to place before. Aziraphale knew that it had blistered and broken the soles of his feet. He had crossed that barrier for him.

Aziraphale watched him from a distance. What was he to do now? He couldn’t just walk back into Crowley’s life, couldn’t force him to recall the last six thousand years they had spent together. Could Crowley still love him without even the memory of Aziraphale?

He could see the tension in Crowley’s face even from afar. He looked almost as if he were choking. His neck was strained, visible and pale against the contrast of his dark suit. That was a bit formal for Crowley, a full black suit, complete with a tie and everything. He looked grief-stricken, mournful. It pained Aziraphale to see him thus. 

After what felt like hours, Aziraphale approached him. 

“I think it’s closed today,” he said. A wonderful opening, really, the perfect way to reintroduce yourself to the love of your life.

Crowley’s head jerked in his direction, hands quickly rubbing away at the damp streaks on his face. 

“Yeah, quite right,” said Crowley, somewhat displeased at the interruption of his thoughts. Aziraphale suspected he had miracled the area empty for a while, and now here he was, an anomaly, and an annoying one at that. “I was just… I thought…”

“Thought what, dear?” asked Aziraphale, wincing slightly after. He hadn’t meant to use the pet name, but old habits die hard when they’ve been set in stone for thousands of years.

Crowley’s face scrunched a bit at the nickname, but otherwise he didn’t seem to think much of the stranger’s sudden familiarity. He still hadn’t really turned to look at him. His stare was fixed on the inside of the church, where he dared not step. His gaze was trained, as if he were searching for someone, something, that he couldn’t place.

“Nothing, really. I don’t even know why I’m here. I shouldn’t even, it’s just that I thought…” he swallowed, “I think I… lost someone.”

_Oh._

A choked laugh. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. Just felt like the right thing. ‘Tis not alone my inky cloak, nor customary suits of solemn black.”

Aziraphale hummed. “Mmm, yes, but I have that within which passeth show,” he looked over to Crowley, at the pain he was radiating underneath, “these but the trappings and the suits of woe.”

Crowley looked to him with a hint of disbelief. 

“I lost someone too.” Aziraphale explained, forcing a tight-lipped smile despite his mournful eyes.

Crowley nodded. He didn’t need to say anything. It was good to just stand there and share the feeling of loss, of grief. It was comforting, having someone who knows what you’re going through.

"How long have you been here?"

Crowley swallowed. "A while."

Oh.

“I was going to pray, I think. Stupid, really, me praying.”

That had caught Aziraphale off guard. His head snapped in Crowley’s direction as if he had been hit.

“Oh, are you… religious?” Aziraphale asked, unsure of how he should respond.

This earned one of Crowley’s true laughs. 

“Not exactly. Just felt right this time. I couldn’t even walk in there if I tried,” he joked, half-bitterly, “and I’ve tried. How about you, angel?”

Aziraphale could’ve sworn he felt his heart stop. He was sure Crowley hadn’t even noticed what he said. It fell off his tongue as naturally as a temptation. Old habits.

Aziraphale cleared his throat, trying to come up with something to say. “Grew up Catholic. I had a very religious family, but they weren’t exactly… kind about it. Not really sure where I fall, er, where I stand now.”

“I understand what that’s like,” Crowley said, finally turning away from the door enough to meet his gaze. His eyes were covered by dark glasses, but Aziraphale could’ve sworn there was a flicker of something like recognition behind them. And at the moment their eyes met, the pathetic demon, the first demon, fell yet again.

“What’s your name, angel?” he asked.

There it was again. It was funny how much Aziraphale still loved to hear that word, at least when Crowley said it. It didn’t make him feel bitter, like a title he had lost. It felt endearing. After all, he supposed it had never really been about his position upstairs anyway. Crowley had never addressed Gabriel, or Michael, as such. It was just for him.

“It’s Az—” no, no, that wouldn’t do. “—uh, Zira… Zira Fell.”

An eyebrow quirked over the rim of Crowley’s dark glasses. “Anthony J. Crowley.” 

He extended a hand to Aziraphale, who took it firmly between his own and shook it.

“Just a J?” he asked. 

Crowley stumbled. “Yeah, just a J.”

Aziraphale managed a tight sort of smile. “I’m very pleased to…” he paused for a moment, thinking, “...see you.” he decided.

“Likewise.” Crowley swallowed.

At that moment, Aziraphale realized that he was still holding Crowley’s hand.

“Oh, goodness me, terribly sorry about that,” he said, letting go of it immediately. 

“Don’t be.” said Crowley.

There was a pink flush rising to Aziraphale’s cheeks now, not that he noticed. He was too busy staring at the little splotches of red coloring the tips of Crowley’s ears, and the sharp edges of his cheekbones.

“Forgive me if this seems odd, but would you care to go for a drink?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale nodded.


	4. Feelings

They had gotten into the car just as they used to: Crowley opened the passenger side door for Aziraphale, who tucked his legs in primly, and Crowley clambered in on his side; Aziraphale kept his hands folded in his lap, while Crowley drove one-handed; the Bentley played Queen, and Crowley hummed like an engine.

Some things were different. The car did not go 90 in heavy traffic, for one.

And for another, Aziraphale finally mustered up the courage to sing along. Quietly, mind you, but sing he did. Little words here and there. “You’re my best friend.” “Lover-Boy.” “Somebody to love.”

“Listen to them a lot too, do you?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, not really,” said Aziraphale. “My… uh… my partner used to listen to Queen, before—” 

He broke off and turned his head to stare at the window, at London passing them by. 

“I see. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

They made it to the first bar. Then to the second. Then back to Crowley’s flat. If Crowley thought anything about his new friend’s stamina, he said nothing of it. Mortals shouldn’t be able to outdrink demons.

Now here they were, back in nearly the same spot, drinking wine and laughing. It was unlike Crowley to bring a guest home that was not Aziraphale, stranger still to have him to do so immediately. Aziraphale would’ve been offended, if it weren’t for the fact that he swore he could feel something like recollection in Crowley’s touch.

Touch. They were touching. A hand lingering a moment too long on a wrist, a brush of the ankle, the knee as they sat, side by side. Crowley’s lips were dark, wine-stained, and Aziraphale felt his gaze straying to their shape. But those sunglasses, those damn sunglasses! There they were, blocking Crowley’s dazzling eyes from his, preventing him from looking up and pleading, “Look, look at me. You know me. You loved me. You do still.”

He reached for the glasses. Crowley leapt back as if stung.

“You, uh… you don’t wanna see that, trust me. I have an eye condition. That’s what the glasses are for.”

“Do you never take them off? With anybody?” asked Aziraphale. _For anybody?_

Crowley fidgeted. 

“No.”

“My dear, please, let me see them.”

Crowley was hesitant. “Angel,” he said.

 _"Please,_ Crowley.”

A heavy sigh fell from him lips. Crowley leaned forward slowly, guiding Aziraphale’s hands to the black frames. Crowley let out a strangled sound as Aziraphale’s fingertips brushed his face. Aziraphale bit his lip and carefully removed the glasses, setting them aside on the coffee table. He turned back to Crowley.

His eyes were still closed. Aziraphale reached up and gently stroked the side of Crowley’s face, on the cheekbone, where a lone tear had dropped, then at his temple. 

“Please, my dearest.”

Crowley opened his eyes with a wince.

“There,” he said bitterly. “Like what you see, angel?”

They were both sobering up now, just a little, forcefully. The feeling of something forbidden growing around them.

Aziraphale was quiet, gazing over every centimeter of Crowley’s face, just in case he had to memorize it, in case Crowley would kick him out and he would have to reconstruct him in thought.

“You’re so beautiful, Crowley.”

The yellow eyes glimmered for a moment, as if they might tear again, but before they could well up, Aziraphale pulled him closer and kissed him.

It felt like home.

It felt like promise, and prayer, and recognition. Crowley’s hands were on his shoulders, and Aziraphale moved one of his hands from Crowley’s cheeks to entangle it in his red hair. He kissed over his eyelids, at the base of his throat, on the serpentine tattoo beside his ear. 

“Beautiful. I mean it. I’ve always meant it.”

Crowley pulled him back to his lips. There was a sense of guilt in the pit of his stomach that he could not account for. A feeling that he was betraying something, or someone, that he should not be doing this with such a new acquaintance. And yet, a desire for something more coming into fruition.

They stayed there for a long moment, mouths pressed softly together, until Crowley frantically pushed away, breaking them apart.

“Aziraphale.” He said.

It was all he said. A realization and a regret. Aziraphale placed his hands over Crowley’s.

“Yes, dear, it’s me. I’m here. It’s still me.”

Crowley was silent. His brows were scrunched and his eyes were strained as they betrayed his confusion. He seemed nearly feverish, all dazed and frenzied.

One could not blame him, for what was going on in Crowley’s mind was quite a lot to deal with. It was almost as if someone had dehydrated an orange, and then re-hydrated it very, very quickly. A needy, emotional, and frustrated orange. Extraordinarily quickly. An orange could burst from that kind of internal pressure. Could explode. Of course, however, Crowley was not an orange.

“I forgot you.” 

It came out cracked, like a broken whisper. Aziraphale’s heart gave out a little pang.

“It wasn’t your fault. I should’ve seen it coming. I didn’t expect—”

“I fucking _forgot_ you!” Crowley swiped a hand across the table out of anger, sending his glasses clattering to the floor. Aziraphale picked them up. “I could have never seen you again, packed up, moved!”

“Really, my dear, it’s alright. I’m here now,” said Aziraphale, placing a warm and comforting hand on Crowley’s bicep.

Crowley brushed it off.

“You fell _from heaven_ for me and I… I pick up someone at a _church_? The first pretty boy I saw, huh? I just—”

Aziraphale put his hand on Crowley’s shoulder to calm him. This time it took effect. The demon crumpled into Aziraphale’s arms, fighting tears and himself.

“No, Crowley. I truly believe you sensed me, dear. I could feel your presence there, too. You knew exactly what to do and where to go. You went out for me to find you. I found you. I always will.” Aziraphale’s words were as pure as a newlywed’s vow. In a way, they were.

Crowley straightened up again. “After I tempted you into sin and a singeing.”

“You didn’t tempt me, Crowley. I love you.”

“You went to hell for loving me, Aziraphale.”

“And you mourned for me without your memory. The pieces of the past that linked us together,  
after removing them all. Without a face or a name to pin it on you _mourned_ for me. Like you could repent for me. You never really forgot. Not inside.”

“I’ve had practice.” Crowley said.

Aziraphale swallowed and nodded. “Yes. Too much.”


	5. Fin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the universe collapses, they will be together again.

They woke up the next morning together in Crowley’s bed, yellow eyes meeting blue under heavy lids. Aziraphale rarely slept, but there were some things worth making an exception for. Plus, he had been rather worn out, all things considered.

He reached for Crowley’s hand and kissed it softly in lieu of conversation. It was hard to know what to say after all this time. It was harder still the night before. What could one say when one’s love had, essentially, returned from the dead? From beyond the veil of grief and misery? How do you go about becoming accustomed to centuries worth of love? Aziraphale had tried to find the right words and ask Crowley. How do I plunge into your love and drown myself inside you? How do we go about you and me now when we have been scared for millennia?

Crowley smiled at him. Softly, lazily, as if he had been doing it since the beginning of time. Aziraphale felt like, somehow, that was the answer to all his questions. He leaned forward for a kiss, and subsequently all the worries eased from his mind.

Crowley slipped a forked tongue between Aziraphale’s lips and tickled the roof of his mouth with it. Aziraphale withdrew, laughing. 

“G’morning, angel.”

“Yes. It is.” said Aziraphale. And he meant it. Last night, overcome with love and longing and relief, Aziraphale had thrown himself into Crowley’s arms and kissed him once more. Too much, Crowley had had too much practice being sad for his sake. The demon had received him at once, all of his anger dissipating. Here, things were resolved. Perfect. 

  
  


But in Heaven, things were different. Aziraphale’s… <i>descent</i> had not gone unnoticed by a particular angel. And every kiss, every smile, cut at him as if on an unhealed wound.

\---------------------------

A week went by. Then a month. Then a happy year. After so long without Heaven’s interference, the odd, joyous pair let their guard down.

Aziraphale was in their kitchen, formerly known as Crowley’s kitchen. He was humming some song Crowley liked, designed to be an earworm out of demonic habit. He leaned over a pot to taste some of the soup he was cooking. Suddenly, the door banged open. Aziraphale dropped the spoon. He could feel the plants trembling like they hadn’t before in weeks. Aziraphale expected it to be Crowley, albeit in a mood, and looked up, searching for that brilliant yellow gaze. But Crowley was already home. Instead of gold, he was met with violet. 

Judgement had finally come, but not God’s. Gabriel’s.

“Hello, Aziraphale,”

“Gabriel—”

“You didn’t think we had forgotten about you upstairs, did you?” he asked.

“I didn’t—”

“Y’know, I’m only surprised it didn’t happen sooner. You falling, I mean. Because if I had had this little thing the last time we met, I don’t think you’d still be such a thorn in my side.” 

He brought up his hand, showing off a shiny, silver pistol. 

“You see, hellfire didn’t get to you when you were an angel, because I bet you were just one loose feather from falling anyway. Or hell,” he laughed, “maybe you had already. But now…”

He raised the gun.

“This bullet was forged in hellfire, cooled in holy water. It’s infused with enough energy to take out an Archangel, or a Duke of Hell. It’ll take out a puny subordinate like you no problem. You don’t want to know what I had to do to get this.”

Aziraphale paled. Holy water. He hadn’t even considered it before. It could hurt him now. Discorporate him. Kill him. He swallowed. 

Desperate for some form of a weapon, Aziraphale grabbed the knife he had been using to chop vegetables and brought it in front of him. Gabriel laughed. 

“Quite the demotion from a flaming sword there, demon. Now, like I said before,” he cleared his throat. “Die already.”

At that moment, Aziraphale experienced two things. The second was the sound of gunfire. Painfully loud, like churchbells clanging violently in his head. 

But the first.

The first was a pair of arms, shoving him away and onto the floor. It was Crowley. 

The next thing Aziraphale heard was a scream. Crowley’s scream. Then he heard a chuckle.

“Guess your boyfriend’s not so immune, after all.”

Aziraphale threw the knife at Gabriel, cutting off his voice—and his vocal cords. The angel discorporated.

He stumbled toward Crowley, who had slumped against a wall, clutching at his chest. His fingers scrambled and slipped in the dark blood.

“Crowley, <i>Crowley,</i>” Aziraphale called, pulling him into his arms.

Slit eyes flickered open. 

“Burnsss… ‘Ziraphale… it burnsss.”

It had penetrated close to his heart. Amidst Crowley’s hissing, he could hear the faint sizzle of burning flesh, the Holy Water searing him. Crowley’s nails were digging into Aziraphale’s arms as if he were clinging to life, and in a way he was. 

“My fault…” he whispered. “It’s my fault this happened.”

“Angel, don’t—”

“I’m not an angel, Crowley.”

“Are to me,” he licked his drying lips, clearing away some of the blood that had settled there. 

“Always have been to me. My angel.” He reached to cup Aziraphale’s face, felt a hand catch his and keep it there with soft pressure. “My good angel.”

Aziraphale bent down to press a kiss to the demon’s forehead. “I love you.”

Yellow eyes widened to black, and the tiniest of smirks appeared on Crowley’s lips.

And then he was gone.

It had been promised before, so long ago, that the Earth would never again flood, but as Aziraphale wept for Crowley, the threat was tangible again.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t. There had to be something he could do, one last miracle. One last… something? He rested his forehead against Crowley’s.

_ My dear, lying cold, _

_ I will spend all my life for you as I swore on that day. _

_ My sin against God... _

_ All my acts of treachery should be paid by my death,  _

(Not yours. Never yours, my love.)

_ so I will die for you... _

_ I believe that's my fate. _

Aziraphale was resolved. He would break his contract. Free from god, free from hell. All his power into one last miracle. In exchange for his own life, he could save Crowley’s, if he believed he could. 

There was a sound, then. A sound like ice blue eyes shattering. Then Crowley was awake, and in front of him, there was one white feather. Aziraphale was gone. But there in the night sky, not unnoticed, a new star shone just for Crowley. He had worked with starstuff before, but this one was the most beautiful in the heavens. 

I’ll meet you in the stars one day, angel. Alpha Centauri. I’ll be there. Wait for me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the pacing/ending here seemed a little choppy. I was trying to stay true to the song I based it off of, so this is a bit ooc.


End file.
